“I wish my family heard you say so!” said the lady referred to, longingly.
“Don’t they appreciate you? I’m like that!” Wally said. “I often think I’ll die without any one finding out my true worth.”
“Jolly good job for you if they don’t, old man!” quoth Jim, retreating hastily, and cannoning with violence into his father as he dodged round a gum tree. Explanations ensued, and the party settled down to fish, soon catching enough to make tea a memorable meal. Then they lay about on the grass and talked until it was bedtime—a period which came early, though no one would admit any sense of fatigue.
It was a still, hot night—so hot that the girls slept with the tent flap tied back, and were openly envious of the men of the party, who disdained to erect a “wurley,” and slept bushman fashion out in the open, with their blankets spread in a soft spot, and their saddles for pillows. Black Billy disappeared along the creek, camping in some select nook after his blackfellow heart. Then silence fell upon the camp, and all that could be heard was a mopoke, steadily calling in a dead tree, throughout the night.
Norah was the first to awaken. It was daylight, but only faintly; looking through the opening of the tent she could see the sun coming slowly over the edge of the horizon, flushing all the eastern sky with gleams of pink and gold. A little breeze blew gently. She slipped quietly from her bunk, put on a light overcoat and went out barefooted into the sweetness of the morning.
There was an old moss-grown log near the tent, and she sat down upon it. Just beyond the belt of trees that marked the creek, the yellow paddock stretched away, unbroken by any fence, so far as her eye could reach. She could see grazing cattle here and there, and a few half-grown steers were standing in a little knot and staring towards the camp with curious, half-frightened eyes. From further down the bank came the chink of hobbles, and the chime of the bell on old Bung Eye’s neck. Near the tent her father lay sleeping; a few yards away were Jim and Wally, far off in the land of dreams. The clean bush scent lay over everything; the scent of tree and leaf and rich black earth, where the night-dew still lingers. Just below her the creek rippled softly, and the splash of a leaping fish sent a swirl across the wide pool. Norah sighed from very joy of the place, and the beauty of the morning, and the certainty of a happy day ahead.
Then she became aware that some one was awake—in the curious way in which we become conscious that the thoughts of another have entered into our solitary places. She looked round, and beheld one intent eye regarding her from the end of the roll of blankets that represented Wally. For a moment the eye and Norah continued to watch each other; at which point Norah suddenly realized that it was faintly possible that Wally might feel a shade of embarrassment, and modestly withdrew her gaze. She did Mr. Meadows great injustice. He yawned widely, sat up, and wriggled out of his blankets. Then, discovering that Jim’s mouth was slightly open, he proceeded to place within it three dandelions, which accomplished, he fled while his unconscious victim was waking up and spluttering. Wally sat down on the log beside Norah, with a face like an unusually lean cherub.
“You’re a horrid boy!” said that damsel, laughing. “Dandelions taste abominably—at least that milky stuff in them does.”
“Never tried it,” said Wally. “What funny things you seem to have lived on!”
“Poor old Jimmy!” said Norah, disregarding this insinuation, and bending a glance of pity on Jim, who was coughing violently, and evidently prepared for battle. Mr. Linton had wakened, and was regarding his son with curiosity.